


Building Bridges

by lesyeuxverts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:19:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesyeuxverts/pseuds/lesyeuxverts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You–"</p>
<p>"Came to your home and plied you with good whiskey in order to bugger you, yes," Malfoy said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder to steady him. "I admit to it … my dark, devious Slytherin plot. Can't we just–"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Building Bridges

The weather had just turned crisp when Harry managed – finally managed – to forget the scene at the train station. Malfoy, with his brows arched, his condescension, his wife and his perfect family – it was hard to forget. After all these years, it was still hard to forget Malfoy.

Firelight flickered and cast long shadows on the walls, but the fire crackling in the hearth wasn't enough to ward off the first chill of autumn. Hearth and home – Harry was supposed to be happy here.

He used the cinnamon stick to stir his cider, twirling it idly between his fingers when the mug was empty. It was one of Ginny's frivolous touches, learned from her mother and adopted by the house elf now. The chenille throws and pillows that she had scattered around the house, the comfort of coming home to one of Molly Weasley's home-cooked meals, the knick-knacks gathering dust on the mantel ... it had driven him crazy at first, but he missed it now.

Leaves rustled as the wind stirred the branches, tapping them against the window. The rain would start soon – wind and rain and the cold bluster of autumn. Now that Harry was alone, the house seemed colder than ever. He stretched out on the rug closest to the fireplace, working the kinks out of his old body, lying on his stomach so he could think.

Autumn already – the frost would come soon, and with it the need for wool socks and warm sweaters. Last year, Harry had Ginny and the house had been warmer ... now she was with Dean, and the chenille throws and warm pillows were gone, leaving the house bare.

Harry jumped when he heard a knock on the door. Three sharp raps on the wood, followed by another three – it wasn't Ron or Hermione, they would have Flooed over, and no one else was likely to call on him, not this late at night.

Draco Malfoy was at the door, his pale face haloed by the dark sky behind him. He held out a bottle of whiskey, offering it to Harry, and tapped his foot when Harry stood there, staring at him. "Aren't you going to invite me in, Potter?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Mending bridges. I've been told that it's good for the soul."

Harry snorted – his therapist had told him the same thing after Ginny left, but it hadn't done him a bit of good. He took the bottle from Malfoy, though, and stepped back to let him in, setting it on the mantel while he called the house elf and asked for two clean glasses.

"Why are you really here?"

Malfoy took a glass from Harry, swirling it between his fingers before raising it to the light, looking at Harry over the rim of the glass. "As I said, to mend bridges."

He reached out and touched Harry – his long, slim fingers on Harry's forearm – and Harry shivered and took a gulp of whiskey to cover it. The last time he had touched Malfoy had been nearly twenty years ago, in the Room of the Requirement when they were half-scorched by the heat of the Fiendfyre. It hadn't been nearly this cold.

"Are you, or are you not a wizard?" Malfoy flicked his wand and cast a heating spell, making the room warmer at once. Harry glared at him.

"Do you always barge into other peoples' homes and change things to suit yourself when you try to mend bridges?"

Malfoy shrugged, taking another sip of his whiskey. "Often," he said. "It's seemed to work well so far."

Harry had remembered Malfoy at the train station for months, but this wasn't the man he remembered. He'd never seen Malfoy like this – drinking whiskey in his shirtsleeves, his collar unbuttoned and his pale skin glowing in the firelight. Harry swallowed hard, and his next gulp of the whiskey burned on its way down, making him cough.

"Why are you here, Malfoy? Tell me the truth."

He shrugged again, quirking one eyebrow at Harry. "We have a lot in common, don't you think?"

Malfoy's body, pressed against Harry's – the heat of the Fiendfyre rising around them – the tug of the life debt, ancient magic binding them together – it had been twenty years ago. Harry finished the rest of his whiskey and shook his head. "Not really."

"Your wife left you," Malfoy said, stretching like a cat. His leg brushed against Harry's and he smiled, licking his lips. "My wife left me. There's something we have in common."

"Errr," Harry said, shifting on the sofa and moving an inch away from Malfoy. He still felt the heat of Malfoy's leg, the warmth of his body – too close. "I'm sorry."

Malfoy licked his lips again, leaning closer to Harry. "I'm not," he said. "If she hadn't – then I couldn't do this."

He kissed Harry, and he tasted like whiskey and felt even better. Harry's arms went up around him, pulling him closer – and he was kissing Malfoy back before he knew it. This wasn't the Malfoy he remembered from school or the war or the train station, but somehow – somehow Harry still knew him.

"You–"

"Came to your home and plied you with good whiskey in order to bugger you, yes," Malfoy said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder to steady him. "I admit to it … my dark, devious Slytherin plot. Can't we just–"

Harry grabbed him, pulling him close for another kiss. Malfoy was warm and solid in his arms, and he smelled like autumn – wind and leaves and warm spices. He shifted on the couch, moving closer and putting one leg over Harry's, pinning him to the sofa. After a moment, he pulled back and returned Harry's gaze without blinking. "If you think we have something in common, that is–"

"A new bridge?" Harry asked, one hand on Malfoy's shoulder. The storm had started outside, rain and wind hammering the walls of the cottage – but thanks to the fire and Malfoy's spell, it was warm and bright inside, almost cozy. Hearth and home – the place that Harry was supposed to be happy.

Malfoy nodded, and Harry kissed him again. A new beginning, with two glasses of whiskey and a handful of kisses – a shared past, with their years together at Hogwarts and their two life debts – it was enough to build a bridge. More than enough.


End file.
